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Not used to taking orders from someone other than Miles, Tessa hesitated. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the request, but still the whole experience was incongruous with her expectations for the day.
“Now!” Damien snapped. He glared at her and tugged at the scarf.
Tessa finished the job, pushing the scarf to her waist, releasing her breasts from the binding. The flesh jiggled, almost glad for a breath of fresh air, while her double-pierced nipples glowed in the dim light.
From out of nowhere, the man drew what looked like a conductor’s baton and prodded her tits. Raising them from underneath he viewed them with a judgmental eye, as if he were inspecting something he intended to purchase.
“He told me they were even more exquisite with the second piercing,” Damien commented. His eyes were incredibly cold. “You know, the movies hardly do you justice, though Miles has captured you quite well in some of the sketches.”
Tessa didn’t see any need for conversation. She let his comments go unanswered; though his careful inspection of her was arousing. “Raise your skirt,” he ordered next.
As they stood in the midst of the elegant room, they were like two divergent views of life—Tessa looking quite out of place. She felt like the used woman, like the whore that Hector spoke of. She was fulfilling Miles’ wishes, and wouldn’t have dared deny this man whatever pleasure he wanted. It was a nasty business being a slut, allowing the whole world to see her exactly as she was. As Miles’ trinket to give away, his pleasure became hers; doing his bidding was like a soothing ride down the territory of her own desires; and she couldn’t imagine being anything but what she was.
Unfortunately, events like the luncheon today, reminded her that the rest of the world wasn’t like her at all. Indeed the normal world judged her harshly, a fact she’d have to get used to.
Almost as a statement of defiance to the gathering down the hall, Tessa raised her skirt. Wouldn’t it have been lovely to flaunt her naked bottom before them?
“Open your thighs,” Damien commanded.
Tessa obeyed as Damien eyed her carefully, seeing her pussy with its glittering jewelry. A look of pure admiration—a wave of utter satisfaction crossed his face as he saw her cunt appearing with its treasures dangling before his eyes. He reached down and pulled at the ring over her clitoris. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“When you pull it hard, yes, sir.”
“I like to see what depths of pain women can take. I should like to whip your body until you scream—your agony would make me mad with joy.”
The man was mad, crazy mad, Tessa thought. His face made another of its unexpected shifts, almost glaring with a evil glow. Then the chilling visage turned to loathing, a scowl walking across his brow, chin and cheeks. He changed masks in seconds. For all the mesmerizing, demonic, lusty, wicked faces that had been cast her way, never had this one appeared to her.
She was about to panic when the baton came down against her naked breasts. On another occasion she might cried out, but she was too scared. Strangely, the punishing cut calmed her, forcing her away from her fears. She was staring at the slice against her white breast where a thin red line was rising, when Damien brought the baton down another three times across her tits. Each time the same result occurred; her breasts instantly reflected the unleashed passion with a distinct line etched into her skin.
“Some things, my dear Tessa, I like to see for myself first hand,” he explained as he finished.
Tessa remained silent. She liked this less than she liked the scene with Martine. But again she was foiled by her own physical response; like some brazen whore, she was juicing between her legs.
“Miles said your passions for perversion were limitless,” Damien said, pressing his hand to her cunt. His expression was pure admiration. Tessa wondered now, if there had been any reason to be frightened of him at all—she could handle hard cocks and lust with little effort.
Bending her over the back of a chair, Damien spread wide her legs and pushed his cock deep into her cunt. She squeezed down on him instinctively, and he groaned delighted. While snapping the baton against her naked bottom, he pummeled her cunt with sharp, quick thrusts, to which she moaned in reply—though not so loudly that their fucking could be heard outside the room. Even so, right in the middle of their screw, the door opened noisily and two women from the luncheon walked inside the room.
“It’s Miles’ slut and Damien,” a coifed woman, announced to her escort, as the two stood stock still in the doorway ogling the scene before them with ecstatic expressions.
“Do you see that! She’s pierced!”
The two didn’t bother to leave, they didn’t even bother to close the door. Instead, they watched the fucking as if it were a performance.
“I wish he’d take her in the ass,” the woman said.
Lost in the pleasure of his mounting climax, Damien didn’t seem to care that anyone watched. He didn’t even take notice of the audience, which had quickly expanded to a half-dozen unsuspecting guests. He fucked her hard, while Tessa was too hot and wet to worry about embarrassment. Yet, as Damien came with a truncated bellow issuing from his mouth, the door slowly closed and for some curious reason the audience retreated. Perhaps the voyeurs were too embarrassed by the intimacy of the final act and the awkwardness that would no doubt follow.
When Damien pulled out her, he was stone, cold dominant, his sperm dripping out on Tessa’s behind and down her leg.
“Don’t wipe it up,” he told her. “Let it dry. I’d like Miles to see it. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gift.” He brought the baton down on her ass cheeks, first the right, then the left, then in the center along the crease of her ass. She wanted to scream, just as she wanted to scream when he laid the baton across her breasts; but she remained as silent as a mouse to keep her agony from being discovered. It occurred to her, in one brief respite from the blows, that anyone from the luncheon could open the door and find her being whipped—especially if the ones who had watched her earlier and shared their discovery with the other guests. Thankfully, however, the two remained alone until he ordered her to stand.
She was shaky at first. So much had happened so quickly she could hardly get her bearings. An empty stomach, a strange concoction of liquor, an audience, a punishment, a rabid fucking, and more punishment. She almost collapsed, her knees weak, her lungs out of breath.
“Stand up, Tessa, and behave yourself.” The languishing submissive was surprised to hear Miles’ voice behind her. Stumbling, she turned around and caught herself on the chair.
There were three women behind him in the doorway, watching too.
“This is the woman in the paintings,” he told them. There she stood with the silk scarf and leather skirt both bunched around her waist, realizing that all her finest attributes were there to behold. The women stared at her in wonder. Their complementary pastel knit suits—looking so like they’d come from a designer salon of Saks—made Tessa feel smutty and torn in comparison.
